Halo: Artificial Life
by 3LW00D
Summary: Two-hundered years after the Halo event, the recovery ship Alliance comes cross the remains of the Forward Unto Dawn. After locating everything the ship has to offer, ONI spooks start moving forward with their own plans.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is my take on what happens two-hundered years after the Halo event and is my first time playing around in the wonderful universe created for us.

As of yet I do not have a beta reader, but if anybody knows a good Halo beta that would be awesome and much welcome.

**Disclaimer: **I do know own Halo or the associated people and places. Jet, Roe, the Sgt, Slip and all of them are mine.

The two ships hung in space, silently orbiting an unknown planet covered in glyphs. The remains of the _Forward Unto Dawn_ were dark, no signs of life anywhere to be seen. Across from the leviathan a smaller, sleeker vessel waited patiently. On her deck stood the ship's captain, arms held behind his back he gazed impassively out the viewpoint. To his left, the ship AI, Slip, sat cross legged on his hologram pedestal. Data streamed along his light blue, uniformed shape.

"Scans are showing no life signs, as was expected, Sir. But, if the cryo is still up and running, even on minimum power, there could easily be someone alive down there. Either way, it's a gamble."

The captain nodded without looking over at Slip. He was in awe at the sight of the great ship before them, even in her damaged shape, the _Dawn_ was something to behold. "Over two-hundred years ago that ship was fighting to save our entire species. And now we've found her again with the aid of beings that were once our enemies. That's a lot to take in, the irony never escapes me."

Slip remained seated, he had no answer to that comment, he often didn't understand the captain when he got sentimental, which was often. He ran through the files of the Human-Covenant War that he had access to, and a few that he didn't, to match the captain's words to records.

"Sir, records indicate that the last known location of the _Dawn_ was a Halo ring. The Arbiter and Master Chief escaped in this ship, but only the Arbiter returned. Spartan 117 is listed as MIA and-"

The captain cut the AI off with a wave of his hand. "I know my history Slip, thank you." He then turned to a Marine who was standing guard by the doorway. "Sergeant!"

The woman snapped to attention, "Sir!"

"Gather together a Recovery Team. I want you to go over to the _Dawn_ and see if there isn't anything worth saving. Recover the records from the computer and bring them back."

The woman nodded and gave a crisp salute once more before turning and strolling purposefully away. As she walked she spoke into the radio on her helmet. "Jet, Roe, I need you down at Hanger Bay Four, now. "

There was a chorus of affirmations from the two soldiers, both eager to get off the cramped quarters of the _Alliance_. The sergeant made her own way to the hanger, passing human and Elite personnel on her way there. She had to bob and weave a line through the horde. While passing a connecting corridor she caught a blur out of her right eye, before she could react to it, she felt as if she had been plowed into by a truck. The marine was thrown off her feet and into a passing engineer.

The both of them were sprawled across the floor and each other rubbing their heads. "Goddamn!" sputtered the Sergeant, "What the hell were you-" She stopped midsentence. Towering above her and the engineer was an Elite, the commander of the separatist forces on the _Alliance _and descendant of the last Arbiter. Even two-hundred years could not fully heal the rift between their two species.

She and the engineer remained where they had landed in a heap, not daring to move. Though the rational part of her mind told the Sergeant that A'Avar was just another soldier, that he was on their side, she listened instead to her instincts which told her that maybe if she didn't move, her enemy wouldn't kill her.

"Where are you going in such a hurry? Off to find more artifacts for the UNSC?" He watched her curiously, obviously amused at her devotion to her work.

The woman sighed, the Elite crewmembers did not usually share her enthusiasm for Archeology; none of the crew did for that matter. The only two that came even close were Jet and Roe; they would follow her to the very depths of hell if she asked them to. At least she thought they would.

In an attempt to regain her composure, the Sergeant pushed herself to her feet and drew herself to her full height of six foot two. Even then she barely came to the alien's shoulder. The engineer, obviously still shaken, took the opportunity to beat a hasty retreat.

"You know as well as me, both our higher-ups want to bring back all that we can of this stuff. There's so much shit laying around-"

A'Avar cut her off with a click of his mandibles and a deep throaty sound that she recognized as a laugh. "You should have been an archiver instead of a soldier; you would have been very good at it." He paused for a moment, thinking. "I will accompany you to the ship, There is no telling what treasures may be found. This is the ship the Demon was on, is it not?" His deep voice held a great deal of some emotion the marine couldn't place.

The soldier nodded, "But I wouldn't get my hopes up, almost everything else we find is dead, and this looks just the same."

With the imposing figure of the Elite at her side, the Sergeant made her way to the hanger, Jet and Roe were already standing by the Pelican and at their feet was an assembly of weapons they had obviously snatched away from the quartermaster in a hurry.

Jet smiled upon seeing her, a big toothy grin. "We took the liberty of getting everything ready.

Roe nodded at his brother's words, "Sorry we didn't grab any Covie weapons A'Avar, we didn't know you were coming too.

The Elite shrugged one massive shoulder, choosing to ignore the comment about him being a "Covie". "It is of no matter. He patted the plasma pistol slung low on his thigh, and gestured to the needle rifle on his back. At his waist was a collection of grenades and a drop-shield. "I anticipated your mission."

That settled the matter, the humans loaded themselves up with firearms and grenades. They all carried plasma and frag grenades along with a magnum, but aside from that, each marine had personal preferences for secondary weapons.

Jet favored the shotgun and assault rifle, considering himself a good enough shot with the pistol. And if that failed, well, a good grenade toss or two would take care of anything that was left. Roe chose an assault and DMR out of the pile as he was an expert marksman, while the Sergeant preferred a battle and assault.

"I don't see much use of a sniper in a ship Ma'am," Roe explained the absence of his truly favorite firearm, "We won't be far away enough from anything that wants to kill us to allow me a good clean shot."

The sergeant just shrugged. "You two work well in a team."

Once satisfied that her troops were ready, the Sergeant directed them onto the waiting Pelican where they took seats and strapped themselves in. The pilot, an older marine with slightly graying hair, waved to them from his spot. She returned the wave with a thumbs-up, and with a nod the pilot returned to his seat upfront and took them out into open space to make the short trip to the _Forward Unto Dawn_.

Jet kept up a steady stream of chatter, their way of hiding his nervousness, the woman knew. Judging from the tone she figured he was contemplating what they might find on the ship. Nobody though, voiced the one thought that was on all their minds: Would _he_ be there? The unasked question left a heavy atmosphere.

The talking stopped when the Pelican neared the drop point. There was a huge gaping maw in the side of the dead ship, cables and sheets of metal hung from it, their jagged edges reaching out to the smaller ship is if tentacles trying to draw it in. Some debris floated around the leviathan, creating a miniature asteroid field to navigate through causing the Sergeant to wish, not for the first time that there was some sort of window or viewport for her to see out of. The deck vibrated up through their heavy boots as the Pelican settled into the hanger. The pilot's voice buzzed over their radios. "Sensors show no air in here. Your suits have one hour of air. Make sure you're back here before then." There was a pause before his voice came back, "Thank you for flying Air Marine!" Then with a click he was gone from the radios.

"You all heard the guy. Pressurize suits and move out." The Sarge then turned to A'Avar; his armor wouldn't be enough to protect him.

"Don't worry. Look to your men and I will stay here. I'll keep an eye on the computer and watch for danger." That was his usual job anyway, to monitor the marines and be a back-up in case they needed it. Every drop-ship now carried extra-vehicular suits for Separatists that accompanied the recovery teams.

With a grateful nod she turned and left with Jet and Roe on her heels. There were no lights anywhere of any sort; the soft glow the planet gave off did not penetrate far into the ship, so they instead turned on their helmet lights. The beams broke up the darkness, casting shadows along every surface.

The three soldiers felt like they were entering a tomb, not a single sound carried in the vacuum. "Where to Boss?" Jet's soft voice crackled over her radio.

"First priority is the cryo, see if anybody is down there. If they are, then it will be much easier to get the computer running long enough to get the information we came for if they could give us the codes to get in." Again the unasked question hung in the air, making the silence more profound.

Roe pulled up the layout of the ship on his HUD, after a moment of studying the map he pointed down a corridor to the right. "Cryo's that way ma'am, twenty meters then we have to go up. There is an old service elevator there, not running of course." He shrugged, "Shouldn't give us any trouble, in zero G all we have to do is float up the shaft, disengage magnets on our boots and up we go."

The Sergeant nodded in his general direction, "Up the shaft it is."

"Bow chicka wow-wow."

Coming from the helmet radio, she wasn't sure exactly who it was that made the comment, but the sergeant's money was on Jet. He could be so immature. The marines carefully worked their way to the elevator, reporting in on nearly everything they passed, not that there was a lot, most of the contents of the hanger and corridors had ended up outside.

Once the recovery team made it to the elevator, they took a moment to be sure the way up was clear of obstacles, which it was, and then another two or three to be sure it was stabilized, it would hold. The marines slowly worked their way up by moving hand over hand while allowing their legs to dangle free.

"Recovery Alpha, how are you making out? Contact?" the thick walls of the ship and its insulation broke up the message, it sounded more like: "Ho- you-king-lpha-tact?"

"Come again A'Avar. Repeat: Come again."

This time the message was clear. Upon hearing it the sergeant smiled behind her helmet, she and the others were standing in the doorway of the cryochamber. Seventeen pods were lined up along the corridor, some with a small pedestal for the hologram form of an AI to stand upon outside.

"Jet, run a scan, see if one of these is running on any kind of power."

"Roger." The young man pulled a small datapad from an outer pocket and flipping on the power, readied it. Moving to the middle of the long corridor he paused and turned slowly in a full circle, the pad remained silent. "Nope, nada, nothing. This is a dead ship Sarge. With no power like this, given a few more years her orbit will collapse completely and she'll fall into the atmosphere and burn up. Look." He turned the pad to face them; on the screen was a chart of the Dawn's orbit over the hundred years.

Roe and the sergeant nodded, she took a breath. "Well, I guess we check them all one by one and if we find something…then we'll all be attending a funeral."

The twins nodded solemnly, they understood. It was gruesome business, but that came with being part of a recovery team. There had been a war; people had died, two hundred years later they were left to clean up the results. Sometimes they found somebody still alive in cryo, but more often than not, the recovery teams were collecting dog tags. Back at UNSC HQ there was a huge display case where the collected dog tags were hung, under each one was a small plaque where the name and age of each soldier was given, along with other information that they found fit to disclose.

They always used to say that a Spartan never dies, they're just missing in action, the recovery teams knew better. Following beacons on their armor, more than half of the missing super-soldiers had been found. The UNSC had a special section for those dog tags, in a smaller display case, away from the public eye. Many spaces were still unfilled.

The three marines slowly made their way along the row of cryo tubes. Each time they got to one, they formed a semi-circle around it, holding their breath as Jet opened it with a hiss. As each pod would turn out to be empty, they allowed their breath to hiss out between their teeth. It was slow work making their way down the line.

"Recovery Alpha, what is your status?" the voice of the Captain crackled over the radios.

"Slow, Sir. We've made our way to cryo." The sergeant gestured for her soldiers to keep working while she held the conversation.

"Have you found anything?"

"Negative Sir. At least not yet, there is no power as I am sure Slip made you aware. Each pod has to be opened manually."

There was an audible sigh on the other end before he continued. "Alright. When you're done, make your way to the bridge. We still need those records from the computer. There should have been an AI chip in the main computer, bring that back and I'll have the techies see what they can make of it.

In her helmet the sergeant nodded, of course he couldn't see, but before she could open her mouth to answer, her speaker were assaulted with the combined shouts and curses of the twins.

"HOLY SHIT!"

"Get it off me! What the hell is it?"

Surprised by the sudden noise, and not expecting for them to have found anything, she was halfway to ripping off her helmet at the cacophony before stopping herself.

"Sergeant? What is going on down there?" the captain again, he must have heard.

"I don't know, but I'll find out." She turned and made her way down the corridor of open pods as quickly as she could. The sight that met her eyes though, made her stop in her tracks.

Jet and Roe were standing in front of the last cryotube in the row. Roe was bent almost double, dwarfed by something he was attempting to hold up. It must have fallen out of the tube when they opened it. She squinted her eyes, trying vainly to see what it could be. Whatever the thing was, it was a lot larger than the young marine.

Cautiously the sergeant moved in, her light inching towards the group. When she was within range, the beam fell on them. Roe finally was able to move out from under his load, huffing at the effort. With no gravity, there was no "clank" as it did not strike the ground. Instead, it just floated innocently where it was deposited.

At least, the sergeant assumed it was an "it". Until her helmet light fell upon an orange visor.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Um well here it is. So far I have the story written out to Chapter 5 and a little bit of 6 which is being re-written.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, and I am going to go hide from the hoard of angry fans which will probably be knocking on my door soon.

"We uh- we found something." Roe's voice was shaking; it was easy to imagine his lanky frame shivering in his armor, but it must have been something major to cause the normally poker-faced sniper to waver.

"_Recovery-Three, what did you find?"_ Contrary to the three soldiers on the ship, the captain's voice was calm, they took strength from it.

"…I…I think it was _him_." He stressed the last word, unable to bring himself to just straight out say who. The young marine hadn't moved from his spot, he was anchored to it, paralyzed.

"_Understood Recovery-three, lay down a beacon. Continue on your way to the bridge. Recovery team Beta will pick up the package."_ Even though the sniper had stressed the word 'him', the use of past tense was not lost on the Captain.

The sergeant pulled herself together enough to answer. "Beacon set sir. We are continuing on route."

The marines broke off the connection with the _Alliance_, but did not immediately continue on their way. Instead, they turned their gazes down to the still form at their feet. The sergeant knelt down to examine the massive bulk of the armored Spartan. "After all the stories, everything he did…to actually see him…like this…" she trailed off, her voice soft over the speakers.

With no atmosphere, the green armor was perfectly persevered and the sergeant was sure the body encased inside was too. An image took shape in her mind of the man as if he were asleep, seemingly at peace after what she supposed was a long time. That serine image was quickly replaced, shoved violently aside by a new one, of his features contorted with pain from the lack of air to breath, the soldier suffocating in his armor, a suit that was designed to save his life. She shook her head to chase the waking nightmare away and stood up. "Come on, we should keep moving."

No sooner had the small group started moving again then the sergeant's helmet radio crackled to life. She bit back an angry sigh and stinging insult to whoever it was that dared to intrude on her dark mood.

"It is true then? The Demon is dead?" Such tact the Elite had, no minced words or anything. Even a full century later the aliens still referred to the Spartan as a demon. Not that she wholly blamed them, if the stories of his feats were even half true.

She thought about what the elite had said, A'Avar sounded both saddened and relieved, a descendent of the Arbiter, she supposed that he had wished possibly to speak to the soldier.

"Yeah." She couldn't think of anything more to say. "Yeah, he's dead." She had to bite her lip as tears started to well in her eyes, and she snapped at him. "What did you expect you fucking split-chin!" she used a rather old insult for the alien, "It's been years! And what would we do if he weren't dead, the Covenant is gone, you can't assign a Spartan to a desk!" Oh there were stories of what happened when they had tried that. Not all of the soldiers survived the augmentations, and some of those who did were horribly disfigured. The UNSC had tried desk work, what it got them was a super-soldier who went ape-shit and killed a bunch of them.

There was a long silence on the other end before A'Avar answered her, "I Believe that you may have gotten your hopes up too high in this excavation."

Behind her helmet, the marine ducked her head and blushed a deep red. He was right of course, A'Avar was always right. Not that it made her feel any better.

The sergeant came from a proud family. Like everyone else her ancestors had fought in the war, but she took a certain pride in it. During classes she became obsessed with the that history, and when she had learned of the Spartans, well, they became an interest all their own. She spent every free moment she had reading about them, watching videos, everything, trying to squeeze out every fact from the legends that had arisen.

The obsession became a love of history, and that lead to degrees in archeology and military theory, among others. As soon as she was able, the young woman joined the UNSC marines, hoping to shed some light on the stories of the super soldiers, among other things.

Behind her, the twins were deep in a conversation of their own about the finer points of marksmanship. Jet was insisting that the magnum was an effective long range weapon, and even worked well for sniping. Roe, as usual, disagreed with his brother and pointed out, in a rather colorful language, just how stupid the other was for thinking in such a way.

"The magnum doesn't even have a scope, for all you know you stupid fucker, your shots could be going a mile wide."

"But they don't." the other marine pointed out, "My shots always go home. I have the best score at the range."

Roe just sighed; the keyword had been 'range'. None of them had ever actually seen combat. Sure there were rumors of Covenant forces attempting to rebuild, and whispers were spoken that the outer worlds, and even some inner ones were thinking of rebellion, but the recovery teams never saw any of that.

So deep was the group in thought or conversation that nobody noticed when they arrived on the bridge. It wasn't until the sergeant nearly walked into the door that it was recognized. The stop was so abrupt that the twins nearly barreled into her before stopping. "We're here." Obvious yes, but still nice to hear the simple words spoken out loud. "Okay Master slicer, see if you can get this door open."

Jet nodded and stepped around the other two. He again pulled out his small datapad and after hooking it up, attempted to trace the electrical pathways to find the exact point to send a signal to open the door. "The pathways are nearly gone." He frowned in concentration.

"Can you open it?" Her voice held a hint of impatience.

"I never said I couldn't, it'll just take a moment longer." He turned back to his work, sending directions to the small computer, which in turn passed them along to the door. A moment later the slicer let out an exclamation of triumph as a single light came on and the massive double doors slid open before the light once again blinked off as Jet had cut the minimal power he had fed to it.

With the doors locked open, the three marines had an unobstructed view of the bridge. The area was large, filled with desks and computer terminals, each with its own area. A single glance was enough to confirm it was a wartime vessel, on the far wall hung a large radar screen, and elsewhere what wasn't destroyed took up minimal space. The _Dawn_ was built for economy and power, not comfort.

The main computer terminal was near the captain's station. A desk, hologram pedestal and other equipment sat on a raised central platform to allow a full view of the entire room. Once Roe spotted it and pointed the terminal out to his brother, the slicer made a bee-line for the computer. In seconds he had his datapad out and plugged into the mainframe. As a recovery soldier he had been supplied with equipment that was compatible with both the wartime and present computers.

No sooner had he fed a small amount of power to the old ship and attempted to access its files than the hologram pedestal by the captain's chair flickered to life. Upon its surface stood the small figure of a woman. Her sharp features and curved form was accented by a short bobbed cut and violet glow.

"This is Cortana, acting AI of the UNSC vessel _Forward Unto Dawn_. You have tried to access the computer unauthorized. Without due passwords and codes, this recording will cease and the computer will self-terminate." Even as a recording she seemed to make eye-contact with the startled slicer.

Jet and the others had already been on edge since the incident in cryo, and he fell flat on his back at the intrusion of Cortana. His brother and the sergeant, also surprised, instantly had their respective firearms out and pointed at the hologram.

It took several tense seconds for the soldiers to recover their wits enough to speak. Roe slowly lowered his rifle, "Do we have the codes she wants?"

Jet shrugged and looked to the sergeant for help.

"I don't know, we have a few…but there were so many inscriptions floating about during the war. The ones she wants could be any of hundreds." She thought for a moment and then got back on the COM with the _Alliance_. "Recovery-One to _Alliance_."

The response from the captain was immediate, _"Go ahead Recovery-One."_

"We've made it to the bridge. Jet has attempted to slice into the mainframe, but we've hit a wall. An AI, Cortana, had put security measures in place before termination. Without them the whole thing will shut down." An annoying dilemma indeed.

She heard the Captain speaking to someone else before his voice came back clear, _"The techies and Slip are working on it, and in the meantime have your slicer try to keep the information channel open. Do not- I repeat: Do not attempt to input any codes. That is an order Recovery Alpha!"_

The sergeant nodded, "We'll see what we can do." She turned to the twins, "Did you two catch that?"

Roe nodded, "Just so long as we can get out of here soon, this place is giving me the creeps."

His brother immediately took the opening to pick on him, "Aw, is the big bad sniper getting scared!"

Roe snapped back, "In case you haven't noticed, there was a dead body in the cryo that has the ONI spooks jumping, and now we have to sit here and wait. No matter how many times we go through this it still gives me shivers."

Jet just smiled gave his attention to the terminal, his small datapad didn't have enough power to keep it open for very long. "How much longer they gonna take on those codes?"

The sergeant shrugged her shoulders and began pacing, the magnetic locks on her boots engaging and disengaging to make her movements slow and almost comical. "We all know from experience that in the military 'soon' can be anything from five minutes to three weeks from now. …Why?"

Before Jet could answer, the sniper leaned over to look at the pad, "Is that light supposed to be blinking?"

In the top corner of the 'pad's screen, a small status light had begun blinking on and off. The LED was the battery indicator, it was flashing from green, to yellow and then red on a continuous loop.

"What the hell?" Jet grabbed the small device and started opening the operating screens. "Whatever program that AI left in the system isn't happy with us being here. It's trying to drain the power and programs from the 'pad, and then terminate itself. It thinks we're Covenant or something." His voice was hurried and strained from trying to keep ahead of the program that was sweeping through his work.

The sergeant shouted into her radio at the ship, "_Alliance_! We need those codes _now_! The computer is trying to self terminate! You guys better have something for us!"

When the captain answered, she could hear frantic voices in the background as the techies hurried to collect all the codes they had uncovered in the short time. _"Recovery-One, we're sending you what we have, try to keep it open a little longer."_ For all the stress, his voice was still as calm as ever, it was no wonder he was in charge.

Slip came on the coms, _"Recovery-One, I have collected and assembled all the codes we could locate from the correct era, I am now transmitting them to your slicer to input."_

Roe made a rude sound under his breath.

The slicer's response was to quickly collect the transmission from the AI and add them to his own limited number of codes to feed them to the terminal as fast as his shaking, gloved hands would allow. When he was done, he found that he was holding his breath, waiting to see how the two-century old program guarding the ship would respond. He didn't have long to wait, within seconds the hologram pedestal lighted up again.

"Thank you for inputting the proper passwords and codes; you may now direct this program." With that the recording of the small holographic woman crossed her arms as if waiting.

Jet let out the breath he had been holding. "Okay tell the _Alliance_ we have access, I'm now getting the information put onto my datapad for transport back to the ship." He made good on his words and stored the entirety of the ship's records, including the small program Cortana had left behind. "All set, ready to return to the Pelican."

The sergeant relayed their status to the _Alliance_ and the small group began the long, slow trip back to their transport off the dead ship.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **This chapter was, after a very long discussion with my buddies, divided into two sections for dramatic purposes.

Arriving at the pelican, the three marines simply trudged inside. They stood with shoulders hunched forward as the pressure equalized before taking off their EVA suits. Once more in their uniforms and armor, the soldiers moved to their seats, not bothering to great A'Avar and the pilot. In turn, the other two did not bother them accept to announce their arrival back on the _Alliance_.

The Captain and Slip waited for them with a group of techies in the receiving room set just off the bridge. When the sergeant and her team arrived the Captain moved forward to greet them. "Well done Recovery-Alpha. I'm sure that you had no trouble other than that surprise in cryo?"

Then they shook their heads 'no', he smiled. "Well then, I suggest we turn the computer chip over to the tech boys so they can have their fun. Once they have it unlocked we'll turn it over to ONI so they can sift through it for whatever it is those Spooks are always hunting for."

They sergeant nodded, "If that is all then Sir, my team and I request permission to be dismissed so that we can get cleaned up and rest."

Jet and Roe enthusiastically agreed with the pilot backing them up. A'Avar simply looked to another Elite, E'resi who was standing at the Captain's right shoulder. His form towering over the man, who was by no means small, though he was shorter than the sergeant, most people were. "You may all be dismissed Alpha team. We will summon you when we have unlocked the coding on the chip that was recovered from the Demon's armor." The Sangheili's deep voice rumbled in their ears.

The sergeant's attention perked at his words, her weariness was lifted as if she's had a full night's sleep. "They've already started analyzing him?" her voice had an edge to it, surprise and anger.

Roe, Jet, the second Elite and the pilot's eyes all shifted from their superiors to her in surprise.

"Of course" the Captain soothed, "We're a fully equipped recovery and medical ship, have you forgotten the forensics team we have? Almost the whole eighth deck is dedicated to autopsies and the like. The utmost care is being taken in the removal of the armor and other components for study." His response was a thinly veiled threat for her to remain in place. Just because her file was full of black ink, and ONI had taken a special interest in her missions and performance, did not mean she could step out of line.

"Yes sir, I apologize." She ducked her head in embarrassment.

"Good. _Now_ you're all dismissed."

The small group saluted and removed themselves back to their quarters. Once the doors had closed behind them, the Captain turned his attention to Slip. "Sometimes I don't know what to do with that girl. Have you succeeded in getting into uncensored versions of her files and records yet?"

Slip stood up from his cross-legged position on his pedestal. "Not yet sir, I have been trying like you requested, but the ONI AI's are very clever and have so far kept me locked out."

"I do not understand why you insist on breaking into your superiors' offices for just one small child. She does her job, and does it well, what else matters?"

"Well for one," the Captain answered, he truly was tired of having this conversation, "ONI is always asking over her, and that never ends well, and for two she questions me far too much. So yes, I am interested in what the hell is going on."

E'resi shrugged and turned way, his patience for the argument used up. "Take the pad, download its contents to a research terminal and begin sifting to it. Once done, return to us so that everything can be turned over to ONI. Dismissed."

The technical team expressed their understanding and left through the same doors as Alpha team to begin their investigation.

Back in the living area of the _Alliance_, Jet and Roe were in a small room the twins shared with two other marines. Roe smiled at the sight of his brother who was currently engaged in squirming out of his armor, opting instead for his more comfortable black fatigues. The discarded armor was strewn across the floor haphazardly to join the other piles of junk by Jet's bed. Roe frowned disapprovingly, unlike the brasher twin; the sniper preferred his equipment to stay clean and neat.

"One of these days an officer is going to come in here, see your mess, and get the whole lot of us in trouble."

Jet shrugged, running a hand through his close-cropped brown hair. "It hasn't happened yet. The sergeant is down here all the time, and she hasn't turned us in." He flopped into his lower bunk, "Wake me when we get back to port." With that, he rolled onto his side, facing the wall, and was promptly asleep.

Roe shrugged; his brother had said that every day since the _Alliance_ had set out.

The sergeant sat on her bunk, head in hands silently cursing herself. How could she have been so stupid? She knew what the procedure was for anything brought back from the ships or other areas they searched. _But_, she told herself, _this time was different_. She had honestly thought that this particular Spartan was sacrosanct. That he would be allowed to rest undisturbed. Of course that wasn't the case.

When the good Doctor Halsey had disappeared, her research and the only remaining Spartans other than the one who lay in the forensics lab had gone with her. With all of the Spartan lll's killed in suicide missions, and most of their bodies in places impossible to get to, and the more powerful ll's dead or MIA, there was no way to create more. The sergeant suspected that the reason she and her team were sent out time and time again, was not to bring the super soldiers home to be buried, but to be studied.

Just the thought made her start quivering in anger. After all they had done, they couldn't even find rest in death. _No Wonder…_No. She stopped herself from finishing the thought. To travel down that path was to unleash a torrent of emotions and memories she didn't want to deal with. Better not to think like that.

Instead, she swung out of her bunk and grabbing a rag and polish, set to work at her armor. Dipping the rag she began the slow and tedious project. The steady motions and rhythm allowed her to concentrate and then loose herself in the task. The memories and thoughts again became buried.

After every inch was cleaned, checked for wear and tear, and was polished to a shine, she carefully stored it and sat back on her bunk. A quick glance around the small room showed no other tasks that called for her attention. She was just about to lay back for a nap when the door slid open to reveal the slim shape of Corporeal Lansing. The shorter brunette woman snapped to attention at the sight of the sergeant. "Ma'am."

She sighed, "At ease Lansing. We're not on duty."

With a grin, the woman allowed her arm to drop and entered the room. Moving with almost dancing steps to her own bunk, she busied herself with changing from her armor to fatigues before speaking. "I saw the pelican come back. There were more people than usual…Anyway. What're you doing sulking in here?"

The sergeant, who had up until that moment been sitting with head in hands, snapped her gaze up to regard the smaller woman. Her dark chocolate eyes flashed dangerously and her voice was cold. "Corporeal Lansing. I would recommend that you keep such thoughts to yourself." With that she stood to her full height and stalked out of the room.

Lansing was left staring after her, mouth agape. After a moment, Lansing trotted after the sergeant, "Ma'am!" She huffed as she caught up, "I didn't mean it like that. You just seemed really upset about something."

That stopped her in her tracks, was she really that easy to read? She hoped not.

Lansing stopped with her, laying a hand on the sergeant's right shoulder, "It's okay Ma'am. You don't have to be made of iron. No need to impress the guys that way. I'm sure there are others." She smiled.

Maybe she wasn't quite that easy to read, since Lansing hadn't guessed correctly after all. "I'm going to collect the Vox boys, we have a debriefing."

The corporeal took the hint, stepping back and allowing her to leave, she wasn't too keen to be anywhere near Roe Vox anyway, he was cold and calculating and had a way of looking at people that made them feel he was sizing you up to shoot.

The sergeant decided that since she had to walk all the way to the other end of the ship, and pass the quarters for the Elites, she would stop in to visit A'Avar and possibly grab him for the debriefing. When she knocked in his door prior to opening it, he looked up from his work station. From the looks of it, the Elite had been going over reports from underlings. "Ah, there you are Sergeant. I was wondering when you were going to show up."

She frowned, immediately in edge, "I didn't come to apologize, if that's what you're expecting, _Sir_." She laid a strong emphasis on his title, she didn't know why, but she always became …difficult around the elites, especially A'Avar.

The Sangheili's gaze hardened and bored into her. "No." he said after awhile. "I did not expect you to." He slowly unfolded himself from the terminal where he had been working. "Instead, I expect that you came to see if the technical specialists have made any progress." He didn't wait for an answer, just kept talking, "they have not yet. Two teams are working as fast as they can while still being cautious. They have actually collected two of the _Alliance's_ slicers to assist. Not Private Vox of course, he does not have the patience." A'Avar rumbled low in his throat for laughter. "No, it will be some time yet before any real progress is made."

The sergeant nodded, looking down at her boots, thinking, before looking back up. "I'm going to collect the twins. After debriefing I'll take Private Vox to update the records on his 'pad with the new codes the techies have uncovered. I also have a report to file." With that, she gave him a crisp salute, turned on her heals and left.

Eventually she stopped at a heavy grey door within a whole row of them, room 4507. It allowed no view of the room and bunks inside. She reached out to the datapad and keyed in a code, the door slid open, alerting the two young men to her presence. Seeing the Sergeant, Roe jumped to his feet and saluted, Jet, on the other hand, smiled and touched two fingers to his forehead. "Nice ta see ya ma'am."

She rolled her eyes, "At ease Roe." She spotted the scattered bits of armor and her good humor faded, she did **not** have the patience for this today. "Private Vox!" her voice rang out as sharp as a whip. "Get your lazy ass out of that bed and clean this up!"

Jet nearly tumbled out of his bed in his surprise and haste to comply with her wishes. "Yes ma'am! Sorry ma'am!"

When he bent over to pick up his armor, the sergeant planted her boot, which was heavy, in its own right, but also armored, in his ass. The impact sprawled the young man out on his floor. The sergeant then stepped around him and tossed his mattress on the floor. "You're sleeping there tonight. Do it again, and all your roommates get to bunk down there with you, and I'm sure they won't like that!" she towered over him, an angry goddess to be feared and obeyed, no longer their happy friend. "Briefing in five minutes, Captain's receiving room. Now move!"

The twins tumbled over each other in their haste to pull their heavy boots on and follow her out into the passageway. Once they caught up with their sergeant, they did their best to fall into step with her long strides. Being a full head taller than the privates, they sometimes had to take a skip-step to stay alongside her.

The walk to the briefing room was short, being located just off the bridge. The captain was waiting for them, standing behind his chair. He smiled upon seeing the three marines, but there was a touch of worry in his eyes for the sergeant.

Slip stood on his pedestal off to the left. He also smiled and waved before disappearing and reappearing next to the soldiers. The briefing room was equipped with holographic trackers, allowing the AI to move about freely at his full height. "All, hello Sarge!" he gave her a bright smile, only slightly hindered by the fact that he glowed slightly blue. He turned to the twins, "Jet and Roe, correct?" he looked as if he were going to make a comment and thought better of it. "Anyway!" he waved aside his idea of a comment, "you might want to take your seats."

The three marines complied and found chairs at the table. Slip returned to his place next to the captain, the officer turned his gaze on Slip, a warning to the playful AI to keep himself in check. Then he turned to the marines. "Sergeant, I trust you have a report for me?"

She nodded, "Checked and double checked Sir, for all time slots." She pulled out a small data chip and inserted it into a slot in front of her on the table. Instantly a holographic display lit up, streams of data scrolled across it before shutting down.

"Processing data now." Slip calmly stated, "Transferring to UNSC HQ, and to your personal pad, Sir." The AI crossed his arms and leaned a little to his right, as if to attempt to read over the Captain's shoulders. "An interesting report Sergeant. I especially loved the part where Private Roe nearly had a stroke."

The captain nodded in thanks to the blue AI, choosing to ignore the comments. "Well done Slip. Now," he turned to the soldiers, "you all understand that the recovery of Spartan-117 is to remain confidential. The crew is not to know for security reasons."

While the marines nodded their agreement, Slip tilted his head, as if listening. "Sir," he interrupted, "there is an incoming transmission from the Office of Naval Intelligence."

"Patch it through." Anything from the spooks over there took high priority. When Slip brought the signal through to the meeting room, the screen in the center of the table lit up. On the screen, a man appeared. He had a long face and deep dark eyes that seemed to bore into everyone in the room.

Everyone saluted, even Slip.

"_Captain, we just received your message about the package you and your team have picked up. Are you still in the vicinity of the pickup location?"_

The sergeant frowned, what was wrong that ONI wasn't just saying what happened. Why couldn't the crew know? They knew about every other Spartan they found, even the Blue team and Noble team from Reach. Was there a leak? In her peripheral vision, she saw Jet and Roe shifting nervously in their seats, looking anywhere but at the new Officer. Were they picking up on it too? No, they were just scared of ONI.

"Yes sir, we're still in a synchronous orbit with the…pick up location around an unknown planet."

"_Good. I hereby order you to execute UNSC Order 098831A-1. These orders are non-negotiable." _He narrowed the dark hawk-like eyes to hammer home his point.

All eyes in the room, organic or not, turned to the Captain. Was this man serious?

The captain looked thoughtful, his brow crinkled in distaste. He tapped a finger on his chin and looked at his boots. Slip glanced from him to the ONI Officer nervously; if possible, the AI hologram grew even paler.

"Permission to clarify?" The captain finally responded.

"Granted." The officer's voice was stone cold.

"Why must we destroy the _Dawn_? We're a Recovery ship, our mission has always been to preserve what we find, not blow it to atoms."

"That information is classified. Destroy the _Dawn_ and await more orders." With that, the screen winked out of existence and left the entire room in a tangible silence. For the longest time nobody moved until Slip broke the silence.

"Sir, would you like me to notify the crew?"

The captain didn't answer; he sank into his chair with an exhausted sigh and rubbed a hand across his face. After several seconds he spoke, "Yes Slip. To go against the Cole Protocol is an act of treason. Notify the crew." He suddenly looked very tired to the marines. "Once the _Dawn_ is destroyed, initiate random slipstream jump and we'll await further orders."

"Yes Sir." Slip saluted and disappeared from where he had been standing. Within seconds his voice was heard over the loud speakers, ordering gunners to ready their positions to open fire on the _Dawn_, and calling for a missile to be readied for launch as well.

The three marines hadn't said a word. They looked to their commanding officer.

"Follow me." He gestured for them to accompany him onto the bridge. With a shared glance, they shrugged and followed him. Slip awaited the soldiers and captain; he stood on his pedestal, staring out the front viewport. He turned to the captain; his normally cheery expression was somber. "Everything is ready sir, awaiting your orders."

With another sigh, he strode over to the small holographic man and stood, hands clasped behind his back. "Gunners are to fire on my mark."

The three marines stood at rest behind him, unspeaking.

"Mark."

Streams of plasma shot out of the gun ports of the _Alliance_, each of them finding their mark on the still and damaged form. They had little effect, even as dead as it was, the _Dawn_ was defiant.

"The plasma shots are not doing the job sir," Slip reported. He looked up at his captain.

"Fire nuclear warhead on my mark." He paused and took a breath. "Mark."

The marines watched, transfixed as the warhead streaked out and struck the _Dawn_. Whoever had fired it had excellent aim; the nuke flew through the hole in the rear to tear the entire thing apart from the inside. The whole view screen flashed bright white and the captain brought his right hand up in a salute to the vessel, within seconds, every officer on the bridge, including the three guests, followed suit. The sergeant was sure the entire ship was paying their lasts respects to the ship.

After the _Alliance_ had safely entered slip space, the captain allowed himself to sink into his chair, stony faced. The twins looked to the sergeant for guidance in that they were unsure how to act, they weren't bridge officers. The sergeant was about to ask the captain that very thing when the blast doors slip open to reveal A'Avar with four techs in tow, two human and two alien.

Each of them made their way to the hot seat and snapped off crisp salutes for the captain before speaking. "I believe that we may have made a breakthrough in the studies of the information left on the _Forward Unto Dawn_." One of them mentioned, a middle aged woman with red hair that was beginning to grey at the temples. "If we could step into your ready room I think you would like to see it."

The captain nodded without hesitation, once again gesturing for the trio of Marines to accompany him. He stood and lead the entire group into the ready room, Slip followed as well, manifesting in his miniature form on the table. With a small laugh the gleeful AI seated himself directly in front of one of the human techs, simply for the fun of throwing them off with his proximity.

The redheaded woman regarded the holographic man with distaste and turned to the captain. "When the remains of Spartan-117 were brought down to our lab, one of the very first things that we did was to inspect the AI chip that had been inserted into his armor. We were unsure how the technology would have held up after all these years, but it did seem to be intact."

Jet leaned forward in his seat to listen intently; the young slicer wanted to be sure that he heard every bit of information. After all the firewalls that he had to go through to bring back the technology, he wanted to see how the "professionals" held up under Cortana's security.

"The AI is still intact?" The captain's eyebrows jumped to his hairline in surprise. "It wasn't until just a few years ago that we've been able to solve that issue with the seven year limit…"

The technicians were very quick to correct his statement, "We uh, we're not sure what exactly it is we have here."

One of the Elite's nodded in agreement, "We were able to circumvent the security the construct had put in place, but do to the nature of the find, and we believed it best to bring it before you." He looked over at Slip who was still seated in front of the red-headed woman. "An AI is required it open it up."

"Oh! Yeah, sure." Glowing brightly with excitement, he sprang to his feet and, though millimeters above the table, sprinted over to the chip that rested innocently on the surface. When he reached it, Slip bent down and touched the data chip, streams of data rushed along his form. "I am sending power to it now…opening Program One."

The status light glowed lavender and a small hologram manifested itself above it. The form was instantly recognized as that of Cortana, at first the room of observers thought the AI had found a way to sustain herself before they recognized it as a recording.

"This is Cortana, acting AI of the UNSC ship _Forward Unto Dawn. _As you are listening to this, it is safe to say that you are UNSC…and that you were too late to save him." She paused and looked down as if unsure how to proceed, to the captivated audience it looked as if she were crying. "Please activate to continue…and ask him…if he can forgive me."

With that finale statement- finale request, the holographic woman evaporated.


	4. Chapter 3 Part 2

The entire room was frozen, ten sets of eyes, one of them artificial, glued to the miniature Spartan on the table, arm still raised in a salute. Releasing what the AI was waiting for, the Captain returned the salute, the Spartan dropped its hand. Nobody else moved as the Captain turned to the intercom: "Belay that last heading. Immediately drop out of slipspace, new heading to ONI. All non-essential crew is to report to cryo for the duration of the trip."

He looked at the small group gathered in the room, "That includes all of you. Dismissed." He watched as they slowly filed out, reluctant to be sent away now that something so interesting was happening. The human technicians in particular had to be shoved out the door by A'Avar; the elites took the dismissal by a superior officer as enough persuasion.

The captain watched the doors until he heard the hydraulics hiss shut and seal, only then did he look back at the small green Spartan. Unconsciously he compared the two holograms. Slip, much smaller and slimmer stood at rest, completely relaxed, symbols and data lazily scrolled across his form. The Spartan on the other hand seemed on the verge of panic without actually crossing the threshold. It stood stiffly, clearly giving the impressions of being ready to flee. Numbers, symbols, and other data bits streamed across its shape too fast for the captain to follow while a red aura glowed around it's outline.

The man felt tightness in his chest, a pang of sympathy for the AI. This was the one thing he hated about the newer programs having found a way around the seven year limit, the madness. Not all of them found a way back. Rampancy was the state of an AI 'thinking itself to death' as Dr. Halsey had described it. They tended to go mad, but, there had been a case, of an AI left to itself and it managed to complete the rampancy, so now, as soon as activated, rampancy is induced and the AI is forced to complete it to continue its existence. Usually they snapped out of it if left alone long enough, but the memories of the person they were created from sometimes mixed with the new coding, that was when the trouble starts.

The captain chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully as he came to a decision. If the new AI corrupted itself before they arrived, or committed "suicide" like others had, ONI would never forgive him. It was possible it could, and even would, sort itself out, but that was not a risk he was willing to take.

The Spartan waited expectantly.

He nodded to Slip, who had moved himself closer to the green hologram, anticipating the captain's wishes. With one small blue hand, he reached forward and through the Spartan. He moved as if to press a button or flip a switch like turning off the lights and the taller AI winked out of existence.

"You did the right thing, Sir. He needs this." Slip's normally bright features were darkened in pain and sadness. "As for you though Sir, I am sure you may want to report to cryo, I will take us back home."

With a silent nod, the Captain turned on his heel and left.

Roe grunted as something soft connected with the back of his head. He didn't have to turn to know that it was his brother's shirt, with a sigh he removed it and then his own fatigues, first wriggling out of his coat. Once done he shivered at the cold air on his bare skin. He jumped up and down a few times, rubbed his arms to warm them, ignoring the empty gaping cryo tube behind him. Off to the left, he heard Jet laughing. The young soldier struck a pose, muscles rippling along his form, "someone grab a camera! The ladies are gonna want something of me to take with them to their sleep!"

The entire room erupted into cheers and catcalls. One of the girls, another private, slithered over to Jet. She drug a finger across his chest in a mock of sensuality eventually breaking into a fit of giggles of her own. In the middle of the display a voice rang out across the chamber, "Captain on deck!"

Roe snapped to quick attention, his ears straining to pick up anything the Officer had to say. It was simple, the Captain was not about to take any of this horsing about, everyone was to get into cryo immediately. With a sigh, and a last glance over at Jet, who had already clambered into his chamber, Roe scurried into his own. He shivered at the bite of the metal on his bare skin, and then quickly felt himself slipping into oblivion.

A soft whistling drifted through the empty corridors of the Alliance, echoing off the walls. Every member of the crew had been put on ice for the duration of the trip. Aside from the haunting melody of an old tune; the only sound was the humming of the mechanics, and the creaking of the hull.

Slip himself had manifested above the pedestal that stood next to the Captain's chair on the bridge. He lay on his back, hands clasped behind his head, right foot on left knee. Although the small AI could not physically whistle, something he deeply regretted, he played the tune through the speakers and tapped his foot to the beat.

With a small part of his mind focused in the actually running of the ship, the construct allowed the rest of it to wander. His attention was continuously drawn to the tiny shape which was the chip the other AI was residing in. Having the other AI around was more distressing than Slip had imagined it to be. He understood that at his own core he was essentially a bundle of memories, a ghost of another person's life. But he, Slip, the name he had given himself, was not that person. He had shoved those images away and became his own being simply to escape the pain.

He gazed at the AI chip, fully aware of the struggle the other program was going through. To succumb to the onslaught of images and scents and sounds, to embrace and control it, or to run away. That was the choice he had been faced with. Unable to deal with the pain, the blue AI had run. He had crumpled up all the images and feelings of the person he once was and shoved them far away in a corner so they wouldn't have to be dealt with.

The normally bright blue holographic avatar slowly paled and began to turn red. A temper usually held in check, a thread to the long dead soldier, a thread Slip had been unable to cut, began to show. The AI ranted to himself, on his weakness at running away. He ranted about his stupid false cheerfulness to hide his temper, about how the human he was created from was so stupid as to get in the way of an incoming morter to save a stupid little civilian insurrectionist .

Slip closed his eyes and counted backwards from ten-thousand to calm himself. Oh yes, he sympathized with the new construct alright. He opened his eyes and glanced side-long at it. It would be very interesting to see what choice it would make.

OoOoOo

"Incoming!"

At the command, a group of twelve black-armored Orbital Drop Shock Troopers dove for cover in a recently vacated ditch. They reflexively leaned into the hard dirt wall, crouching low and covering their helmeted heads as dirt, debris, and organic bits rained down on them.

The helljumpers had been trying to find a way into an insurrectionist stronghold for close to three hours, it was a long-suffering and one-sided fight. Soon after drop the helljumpers had begun the long hike, only for it to turn into trench-warfare. The marines would gain a foothold only to have the enemy rain artillery down on them, sending the troopers scrambling for cover. The mission had been for the helljumpers to move to the base and set charges on any entrances they could find. Once they had blown them then the regular marines would begin a siege to break in and steal a computer.

UNSC intelligence had reason to believe that there was a connection between the insurrectionists and the Covenant loyalists that were still causing trouble. It would certainly explain why they were still around.

The helljumpers ducked again as more artillery sailed overhead. This one missing its mark. Only twelve men remained of the thirty-five who had survived the jump. One soldier, red stripes adorning his black armor, sat with his head resting in his hands. Younger than his companions this had been his first jump into a live combat zone. The young trooper had done his best, continuing to keep up with the older men even as his friends died around him. But now he had reached his limit, or what he thought to be his limit. Finding himself among the last survivors he was close to giving up.

The insurrectionists were utilizing a jamming device, as soon as the troopers had entered range the sensitive equipment in their helmets had become damaged, good for nothing but talking amongst themselves-if they stuck close. The ranking marine, a sergeant, spotted the boy. He recognized the signs of shock, "_No_." he mused "_this won't do at all_." He didn't want to lose anyone else, especially a boy. If the others saw one giving up he was sure it would spread like a disease.

The sergeant stalked up the boy. The younger marine didn't react to his superior's approach, his head hung, rifle resting across his knees unloaded and uncleaned. No, this wouldn't do at all.

The older marine lifted his own rifle and in one fluid motion swung it swiftly in the side of the boy's helmet. A calculated blow, the sergeant was sure it hadn't hurt the trooper – much. But it had served as a warning and had certainly gotten his attention. The young marine jerked to the side and ripped his helmet off, looking up at his superior in dull surprise.

"Get your rifle cleaned and loaded!" he snapped.

His eyes swiveled down to his weapon, it had slid of its' perch when he jumped. Now it lay in the mud.

Again the sergeant swung his rifle; again it connected with the boy. "Pick it up!" he stuffed a full magazine in his hand. "Load it!" He shoved at him, "And get your sorry ass out of the dirt!"

At this second prompting the boy dove for his rifle. He swiftly jerked out the old magazine, tossing it aside without a second glance and jammed in the new one. With a click the safety was flicked off and ready to fire.

The old marine nodded. His men watched the display and then each of them went about checking and repairing their own firearms. Order had been restored. Seeing that he wasn't about to give up, neither were they. With a sigh he looked up to the insurrectionist base. They still had a long way to go.

OoOoOoOo

The captain of the _Alliance _stood stiffly at attention. To his right, the hulking form of A'Avar hovered. The captain swallowed nervously and then chastised himself for doing so. Nearly the moment the _Alliance_ crew had been thawed out and then moved into a synchronous orbit around Reach, the ONI spooks had "requested" the presence of the Captain, A'Avar and the Recovery Team. Taking deep breaths, the Captain reassured himself that anybody would be nervous in his position. Behind him, someone shuffled, he suspected it was Jet.

Presently the door to the anteroom slid open and the small party was greeted by a man in a sharp uniform. After a moment of surprise, the Captain noted that the newcomer was half a head shorted than himself.

The spook stopped just inside the doorway, his face a mask. "Carlisle." He said by way of greeting. "Recovery Team Alpha, I will relieve you of the artifacts from the _Forward Unto Dawn_." He held out a hand expectantly.

With a small shrug, the Sergeant handed over a bag containing all the equipment the team had salvaged, most of it nearly perfectly preserved after having been painstakingly thawed out. Then, with a brief moment of hesitation she reached into a coat pocket and reluctantly deposited the chip containing the AI into Carlisle's open palm.

The ONI spook regarded the chip, lifting it and narrowing his eyes in concentration. He then slowly and deliberately stuffed it in the breast pocket of his uniform before looking at the waiting group. "You understand, I hope, the graveness of the situation?" Even being nearly a head shorter, the spook gave the impression of looking down on them all, and not liking what he saw.

The twins looked at each other in both confusion and fear; they were beginning to not like the direction the conversation was going. Instinctively, Jet took a step to position himself closer to, and slightly behind, his older brother.

The captain nodded, "We understand that, like all of our other expeditions, word of what we find is not to get out."

With a grim nod Carlisle continued, "ONI will release information if we find the relevant, but unless we do so, you are not to breathe a word. You know the consequences if you do." He didn't have to finish the threat; the crew knew that ONI could make it so they never existed- if they felt so inclined.

With one last contemptuous look at the assembled team, Carlisle turned and left. "Don't worry about reporting in. We know where to find you when we need you." He fixed the Sergeant with a pointed look, "And we will need you."


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N:** And now for Chapter 5, where we get back to the important, stuff...kinda...it's has the Chief anyway. And those ONI dudes, who as someone raised in a family with Marines, I must say I am not a fan of them in real life either. Creepy dudes.

**Disclaimer:** Things that are not mine; Deadpool, a Deadpool plushie, and Halo.

**_P.S:_** I am sorry for the rant from last chapter. I really do love it when you all review though, it motivates me to write, especially now that I work really late nights and weekends and am going to school. So please review.

OoOoOoOo

It was dark, too dark. Not dark like a room with the lights turned off though, this was the complete absence of light or anything in any form. He felt it pushing in from all sides like a tangible thing. He tried in vain to push against it and hit a wall. Curious now, and frustrated he started searching, knowing instinctively that something important lay on the other side and that if he got in, he must be able to get back out.

OoOoOoOo

Office of Naval Intelligence technician Frank Davijan nearly spilled his coffee in surprise at the appearance of his superior at his shoulder.

"Has there been any headway?" He scrutinized the computer screen over the technician's shoulder, trying to make sense of the numbers.

Davijan shook his head, "None sir. Not sense we first input the restraining code, just as you instructed. The program was uploaded to prevent the personality of the deceased overriding the AI program at the completion of rampancy." He paused at the end of his statement, hoping that an explanation of his orders would be forthcoming.

His superior did not disappoint, "Hmm" he mused, "we can't have a near omnipotent Spartan free in this facility – but, I don't want the program destroyed or damaged either. Keep working on it."

OoOoOoOo

He searched along the wall of darkness, pushing and prodding. In some places they seemed to give a little at his touch only to snap back in place. Deciding that force wasn't going to work he tried to access other sources, "Cortana." He spoke out loud, he was sure, but he didn't hear his own voice. No answering echo, only the thought in his mind.

No answer. Slowly he felt panic creeping into his mind. Images flashed, the Gravemind, the _Spirit_ _of Fire_, the First Halo and then Reach, and the Arbiter. Everything was scrambled and out of order, but always coming back to one thing, "Wake me, when you need me."

She never did.

OoOoOoOo

Davijan frowned at the steaming data in front of him. The numbers which had before scrolled with certain laziness now raced across his screen. If he didn't know any better, he would have bet money that the AI was scared, panicked even. One thing was certain though; it had locked itself far away in a mental box of sorts. It explained why the program he encoded hadn't reached it, well, it had gotten to the surface anyway, but the core being of the program was safely tucked away.

With the frown etched firmly on his features, Davijan scrolled back up the page and reread through everything again. Yes! - There it was, a small box. He supposed that some activity was better than none, and allowed himself a small smile. His boss was going to either hate this, or love it.

OoOoOoOo

He supposed he must have dozed off. But with the blackness it made no difference, awake or asleep the view was the same. No, not quite. This time there was a crack of light in the blackness, a small shaft of light. It brought with it another revelation- there were no walls, at least no visible ones. The "cell" was nothing but emptiness as far as he could see.

Not willing to wander about the endless desert, he turned his attention to the light. He prodded at it with no result, so he tried pushing at the walls to either side and was rewarded with them giving slightly at his touch. He couldn't see anything beyond the light, it was too bright, but he supposed that it had to be the same as on his side, only brighter.

Briefly he entertained the idea that he was dead. Dead and trapped in some terrible unending limbo in his mind, unable to cross over the threshold. Or maybe he had and this darkness was hell. The more hopeful choice was that he was simply still in cryo and that Cortana was thawing him out, maybe they had made it back home, or someone had come for them. Either way he didn't want to stick around. If the light was offering a way, out he was willing to take it.

Slowly the sliver began to widen, pools of it spreading across his black wasteland. Strangely, the walls to either side had given without resistance. When he felt that it was wide enough to cross through, he reached towards it- and was met a searing electric jolt that sent him reeling in pain.

OoOoOoOo

For the second time, Davijan nearly fell out of his chair in surprise, but this time it was not his superior reading over his shoulder. This time it was an anomaly in the scrolling lines of code that caused an insistently beeping alarm. For two weeks now there had been nothing since he first noticed that box. Now there was a blip. He snatched at the edge of his desk and pulled himself close to his monitor. The box in which the construct's consciousness had locked itself was no longer there.

He scrolled up and down the page, trying to find a pattern but not locating anything. The blips were jumping around sporadically. His eyes widened and then narrowed in confusion. Normally he could read the code like a book, seeing 'blond, brunet, and redhead' instead of ones and zeros. But not this time, he couldn't make sense of anything.

OoOoOoOo

As soon as the pain hit him, he tried to draw in on himself, anything to escape the waves of it washing over him- but he couldn't. It followed him. The light was gone now and everything was dark again. Slowly though as he came back to himself he was aware that it was because his eyes were closed and covered by his hands, idly he noted that somewhere along the line he must have lost his helmet.

Instantly he pulled them away to glance down at them in both awe and fear. There had been nothing, no feeling, no sound, no sight or taste, but now he was looking at his own familiar green armor. Shakily he rose to look at the smooth opening, now widespread enough to easily stroll through. He was cautious about getting close to it, but curiosity soon overrode that. He stepped up to the light and allowed it to wash over his dark green armored gauntlet. He glanced down at the glove admiringly but his eyes widened in shock. All across the armor, every visible surface were streams of numbers and letters.

Data that held and wrote his very being.

OoOoOoOo

Davijan blearily rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. It had been a long night. Eyes firmly closed he sipped at his caff, the coded anomalies had failed to show for nearly a month now. Carlisle was hoping that is was because the installed program had prevailed. Secretly the technician hoped otherwise.

He was about to check on the status of the AI when the door to the office area burst open, bringing with it the warmer air from the hall in its wake. It slammed against the wall and then hammered shut behind the intruder.

"What the hell is going on out here?" A very angry and very tired-looking Carlisle stormed out of his office, intent on murder.

Davijan glanced up at him from over his cup, surprised to see him stop on a dime in front of someone dressed in a field uniform.

"Oh..." was all he said.

There wasn't any way to identify the newcomer. She was free of name, rank, or unit identifier. A spook if he ever saw one.

She leaned forward, "I think we found a suitable candidate." Eyes flashing her lips curved upwards into a deadly smile.

Before another word could be uttered Carlisle snaked out a hand and pulled her into his office, closing the door and jerking the shades down to prevent prying eyes.

OoOoOoOo

After checking to be sure nobody was listening in on the conversation, Carlisle turned to the woman, "What do you mean 'suitable candidate'?" His steel grey eyes bored into her, every line of his body stiff and nervous.

She was not intimidated by the intelligence officer in the least, "I meant what I said. You wanted to reactivate the Spartan Program, right?" She kept her voice low and silky smooth, knowing full well how much it would off-set and irritate him.

"Yes, I-"

"Report just came in." She pulled out a folder from a binder she was carrying and with a dismissive toss flung it onto his desk. "A few weeks ago a group of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, or ODSTs if you prefer, dropped in to secure an Insurrectionist base and hopefully recover their codes. They were not able to do either though and had to destroy the whole thing. Sad really." Her flippant tones indicated that she did not find it sad in the least.

Carlisle raised an eyebrow questioningly, having forgotten all about controlling the conversation. "And this concerns me how? I am not interested in the Shock Troopers, far too undisciplined."

"When the infantry arrived to clean up the mess, they found a single survivor. A much younger man then the rest who made it to the base. It was his first combat jump and they found him unconscious and clutching the dog tags that he took from the body of his Sergeant, who was later located and determined to have died much earlier."

Carlisle was shaking his head now, "You want a shell-shocked boy to be the legacy of the Spartans?" His voice registered shock, disgust and he moved to the door to show her out.

"No, I want you to use this young man as a tool who is going to want revenge. I want you to give him the means to extract said revenge. And then I want you to turn him loose on the Insurrectionists nd Covenant loyalists." She smiled again, a cold hard and unforgiving look, her eyes flashing with bloodlust at the thought.

Now understanding was dawning on Carlisle. This boy, young enough possibly to undergo some augmentations, had been close to death. He would know what it was like, he wouldn't be afraid to go there again having recovered from it once. It was quite possible that the only thing keeping him alive had been those tags. He would want revenge…and they would give him the means to carry it out.

Nodding now he turned to the woman. "So tell me Vanmra…how long until we can have a word with…" He left her an opening to supply the name.

"Oyadar, Jersey Oyadar and we have two days."

OoOoOo

After nearly an hour, the blinds on the windows rose and the door opened to reveal the strange woman leaving the office. Davijan watched, amused as she crossed the long room to the door, and then turned to blow a kiss to Carlisle before disappearing.

A gasp rose and snickers floated around the room at her actions before a cough from the direction of Carlisle's office stopped it. He was standing in the doorway, a scowl etched firmly in his features, "Just for that, each of you get to do an extra hour every day this week."

That sobered the entire room up real fast. Davijan sighed and returned to his monitor, absently reaching for the cold dregs of his coffee and wistfully wishing for more. Deciding that it was not worth his superior's wrath to search, he set the mug down and began working on a coding project, he had finally decided that he couldn't push the construct and had taken on a side project to keep himself busy. As he was working, Davijan couldn't help but notice that the small hologram pedestal installed next to his station start to power up on its' own.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N:** And now for Chapter 5, where we get back to the important, stuff...kinda...it's has the Chief anyway. And those ONI dudes who has someone raised in a family with Marines, I must say I am not a fan of them in real life either. Creepy dudes.

**Disclaimer:** Things that are not mine; Deadpool, a Deadpool plushie, and Halo.

**_P.S:_** I am sorry for the rant from last chapter. I really do love it when you all review though, it motivates me to write, especially now that I work really late nights and weekends and am going to school. So please review.

OoOoOoOo

It was dark, too dark. Not dark like a room with the lights turned off though, this was the complete absence of light or anything in any form. He felt it pushing in from all sides like a tangible thing. He tried in vain to push against it and hit a wall. Curious now, and frustrated he started searching, knowing instinctively that something important lay on the other side and that if he got in, he must be able to get back out.

OoOoOoOo

Office of Naval Intelligence technician Frank Davijan nearly spilled his coffee in surprise at the appearance of his superior at his shoulder.

"Has there been any headway?" He scrutinized the computer screen over the technician's shoulder, trying to make sense of the numbers.

Davijan shook his head, "None sir. Not sense we first input the restraining code, just as you instructed. The program was uploaded to prevent the personality of the deceased overriding the AI program at the completion of rampancy." He paused at the end of his statement, hoping that an explanation of his orders would be forthcoming.

His superior did not disappoint, "Hmm" he mused, "we can't have a near omnipotent Spartan free in this facility – but, I don't want the program destroyed or damaged either. Keep working on it."

OoOoOoOo

He searched along the wall of darkness, pushing and prodding. In some places they seemed to give a little at his touch only to snap back in place. Deciding that force wasn't going to work he tried to access other sources, "Cortana." He spoke out loud, he was sure, but he didn't hear his own voice. No answering echo, only the thought in his mind.

No answer. Slowly he felt panic creeping into his mind. Images flashed, the Gravemind, the _Spirit_ _of Fire_, the First Halo and then Reach, and the Arbiter. Everything was scrambled and out of order, but always coming back to one thing, "Wake me, when you need me."

She never did.

OoOoOoOo

Davijan frowned at the steaming data in front of him. The numbers which had before scrolled with certain laziness now raced across his screen. If he didn't know any better, he would have bet money that the AI was scared, panicked even. One thing was certain though; it had locked itself far away in a mental box of sorts. It explained why the program he encoded hadn't reached it, well, it had gotten to the surface anyway, but the core being of the program was safely tucked away.

With the frown etched firmly on his features, Davijan scrolled back up the page and reread through everything again. Yes! - There it was, a small box. He supposed that some activity was better than none, and allowed himself a small smile. His boss was going to either hate this, or love it.

OoOoOoOo

He supposed he must have dozed off. But with the blackness it made no difference, awake or asleep the view was the same. No, not quite. This time there was a crack of light in the blackness, a small shaft of light. It brought with it another revelation- there were no walls, at least no visible ones. The "cell" was nothing but emptiness as far as he could see.

Not willing to wonder about the endless desert, he turned his attention to the light. He prodded at it with no result, so he tried pushing at the walls to either side and was rewarded with them giving slightly at his touch. He couldn't see anything beyond the light, it was too bright, but he supposed that it had to be the same as on his side, only brighter.

Briefly he entertained the idea that he was dead. Dead and trapped in some terrible unending limbo in his mind, unable to cross over the threshold. Or maybe he had and this darkness was hell. The more hopeful choice was that he was simply still in cryo and that Cortana was thawing him out, maybe they had made it back home, or someone had come for them. Either way he didn't want to stick around. If the light was offering a way, out he was willing to take it.

Slowly the sliver began to widen, pools of it spreading across his black wasteland. Strangely, the walls to either side had given without resistance. When he felt that it was wide enough to cross through, he reached towards it- and was met a searing electric jolt that sent him reeling in pain.

OoOoOoOo

For the second time, Davijan nearly fell out of his chair in surprise, but this time it was not his superior reading over his shoulder. This time it was an anomaly in the scrolling lines of code that caused an insistently beeping alarm. For two weeks now there had been nothing since he first noticed that box. Now there was a blip. He snatched at the edge of his desk and pulled himself close to his monitor. The box in which the construct's consciousness had locked itself was no longer there.

He scrolled up and down the page, trying to find a pattern but not locating anything. The blips were jumping around sporadically. His eyes widened and then narrowed in confusion. Normally he could read the code like a book, seeing 'blond, burnet, and redhead' instead of ones and zeros. But not this time, he couldn't make sense of anything.

OoOoOoOo

As soon as the pain hit him, he tried to draw in on himself, anything to escape the waves of it washing over him- but he couldn't. It followed him. The light was gone now and everything was dark again. Slowly though as he came back to himself he was aware that it was because his eyes were closed and covered by his hands, idly he noted that somewhere along the line he must have lost his helmet.

Instantly he pulled them away to glance down at them in both awe and fear. There had been nothing, no feeling, no sound, no sight or taste, but now he was looking at his own familiar green armor. Shakily he rose to look at the smooth opening, now widespread enough to easily stroll through. He was cautious about getting close to it, but curiosity soon overrode that. He stepped up to the light and allowed it to wash over his dark green armored gauntlet. He glanced down at the glove admiringly but his eyes widened in shock. All across the armor, every visible surface were streams of numbers and letters.

Data that held and wrote his very being.

OoOoOoOo

Davijan blearily rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. It had been a long night. Eyes firmly closed he sipped at his caff, the coded anomalies had failed to show for nearly a month now. Carlisle was hoping that is was because the installed program had prevailed. Secretly the technician hoped otherwise.

He was about to check in the status of the AI when the door to the office area burst open, bringing with it the warmer air from the hall in its wake. It slammed against the wall and then hammered shut behind the intruder.

"What the hell is going on out here?" A very angry and very tired-looking Carlisle stormed out of his office, intent on murder.

Davijan glanced up at him from over his cup, surprised to see him stop on a dime in front of someone dressed in a field uniform.

"Oh..." was all he said.

There wasn't any way to identify the newcomer. She was free of name, rank, or unit identifier. A spook if he ever saw one.

She leaned forward, "I think we found a suitable candidate." Eyes flashing her lips curved upwards into a deadly smile.

Before another word could be uttered Carlisle snaked out a hand and pulled her into his office, closing the door and jerking the shades down to prevent prying eyes.

OoOoOoOo

After checking to be sure nobody was listening in on the conversation, Carlisle turned to the woman, "What do you mean 'suitable candidate'?" His steel grey eyes bored into her, every line of his body stiff and nervous.

She was not intimidated by the intelligence officer in the least, "I meant what I said. You wanted to reactivate the Spartan Program, right?" She kept her voice low and silky smooth, knowing full well how much it would off-set and irritate him.

"Yes, I-"

"Report just came in." She pulled out a folder from a binder she was carrying and with a dismissive toss flung it onto his desk. "A few weeks ago a group of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, or ODSTs if you prefer, dropped in to secure an Insurrectionist base and hopefully recover their codes. They were not able to do either though and had to destroy the whole thing. Sad really." Her flippant tones indicated that she did not find it sad in the least.

Carlisle raised an eyebrow questioningly, having forgotten all about controlling the conversation. "And this concerns me how? I am not interested in the Shock Troopers, far too undisciplined."

"When the infantry arrived to clean up the mess, they found a single survivor. A much younger man then the rest who made it to the base. It was his first combat jump and they found him unconscious and clutching the dog tags that he took from the body of his Sergeant, who was later located and determined to have died much earlier."

Carlisle was shaking his head now, "You want a shell-shocked boy to be the legacy of the Spartans?" His voice registered shock, disgust and he moved to the door to show her out.

"No, I want you to use this young man as a tool who is going to want revenge. I want you to give him the means to extract said revenge. And then I want you to turn him loose on the Insurrectionists nd Covenant loyalists." She smiled again, a cold hard and unforgiving look, her eyes flashing with bloodlust at the thought.

Now understanding was dawning on Carlisle. This boy, young enough possibly to undergo some augmentations, had been close to death. He would know what it was like, he wouldn't be afraid to go there again having recovered from it once. It was quite possible that the only thing keeping him alive had been those tags. He would want revenge…and they would give him the means to carry it out.

Nodding now he turned to the woman. "So tell me Vanmra…how long until we can have a word with…" He left her an opening to supply the name.

"Oyadar, Jersey Oyadar and we have two days."

OoOoOo

After nearly an hour, the blinds on the windows rose and the door opened to reveal the strange woman leaving the office. Davijan watched, amused as she crossed the long room to the door, and then turned to blow a kiss to Carlisle before disappearing.

A gasp rose and snickers floated around the room at her actions before a cough from the direction of Carlisle's office stopped it. He was standing in the doorway, a scowl etched firmly in his features, "Just for that, each of you get to do an extra hour every day this week."

That sobered the entire room up real fast. Davijan sighed and returned to his monitor, absently reaching for the cold dregs of his coffee and wistfully wishing for more. Deciding that it was not worth his superior's wrath to search, he set the mug down and began working on a coding project, he had finally decided that he couldn't push the construct and had taken on a side project to keep himself busy. As he was working, Davijan couldn't help but notice that the small hologram pedestal installed next to his station start to power up on its' own.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: The just-now-completed chapter 6! Now to begin work on the next one for you all...after sleep...

Disclaimer: Do. Not. Own.

OoOoOo

The flat-black Pelican slowed its' descent to land at the main base of the Office of Naval Intelligence. Atmospheric turbulence made the decent bumpy and the two pilots worried at first for their passenger. But, in turning around to check they found him to be the same as every other time, silent, unmoving, and deaf to the world.

The cockpit radio crackled to life as the ground crew directed them to an empty and far out of the way landing pad.

"10-4, adjusting course now." The pilot acknowledged. He then slowed even more, and banked to the right, coming in for as smooth a landing he could manage with the high winds.

Carlisle and his Spook partner were on the pad to great them with a team of medics and two heavily armed marines. The medics swarmed up the ramp, trailed by the Spook while the two marines hung back, stacking the ramp while Carlisle moved to speak with the pilots.

"You understand of course," he instructed them, "That this is all strictly off the record."

They shrugged; this was a normal thing for them. Every time one of the recovery ships brought something back they always delivered it to ONI and received the same talk of how it never happened and yada yada ya.

Satisfied, Carlisle turned away from the two, and joined the team of medics who were wheeling a stretcher toward the bay doors, picking up the marines on the way. Laid out on the stretcher was an unconscious Helljumper. He was young, no older than thirty for sure. His entire face was a menagerie of bruises, Carlisle was sure the rest of him was as well.

An IV drip led from his left arm to a bag suspended by a pole attached at the head of a stretcher, it was most likely the reason for the lack of awareness in the Trooper.

"I know he doesn't look like much." Began the Spook, "But just imagine after augmentations, just imagine when he is tearing holes through enemy ranks. Then you'll see." Her eyes shone and she licked her lips in anticipation of that day.

Leaving the unconscious boy in the capable hands of the medics, Carlisle made his way to the forensics side of the base. A team there was working on how to actually implement the augmentations. And it was no wonder. This was the first whole intact Spartan the teams had recovered. Any beacon that was picked up planet-side was decayed from weather and bugs that had made their way in through cracks in the armor. Any subject that was recovered from space, until now, had decompressed or been crushed from striking other debris.

Spartan-117 (name lost to history) was the first truly intact subject recovered. He had died of natural causes when in cryo stasis, his body just shutting down over the millennia. There was no decay, no broken bones, no nothing. The armor was completely whole, but more importantly, so was the body inside.

The scientists jumped when the door opened, spilling a glass of water on a nearby bench. "Hello Sir." One of them greeted, he fumbled with the glass to upright it and then ran to fetch towels to clean the mess.

"Have you made any progress, Beckman?"

Beckman, an older man with white hair and a rather large gut and beady eyes, nodded. "Yes we have. Now that you've finally gotten us something good we're making fine progress. This way." He gestured and then led Carlisle through a maze of metal slabs with forms covered in white sheets to the very back of the room.

Resting against the back wall were two slabs laid end to end to accommodate the body upon them. "We were just taking our break when you showed up." He grabbed the white sheet and slowly pulled it back from the upper body.

The man beneath it was pale as expected of a corpse. He had short-cropped dark brown hair that had lost its luster, aside from the undeniable fact that he was deceased; the man was a perfect specimen of health. His body was chiseled without an ounce of fat. There were minor freeze-burns from extended time in cryo, but that was to be expected from one who often went on ice, especially fully clothed.

"We have been able to determine the source of some of the physical abilities of the Spartans." Beckman's partner announced, having returned from cleaning up his mess. "We're still working on it though."

Beckman pulled the white sheet down further, revealing a scissor cut down the soldier's chest, torso, and ending at the naval. The skin and muscle was pinned back so that the innards were visible. Everything was preserved as if the past two-hundred years had been spent in jars in a lab. Carlisle had to admit to himself though that one of the reasons he worked mostly in the office, was that he disliked images of dissected humans. Dead or living.

The two scientists though had no problem; it may as well have been a candy store as far as they were concerned. The partner, Reeve was his name, pulled on a pair of blue nitro gloves and reached into the chest cavity. "As you can see the muscle, especially that of the heart is of greater mass than on a normal human, and the bones are coated for greater density and strength. We are taking tissue samples to see if we can locate the material used and then replicate the results." He sighed wistfully, "It is believed though, that such augmentations were done on the Spartans when they were very young, how else would the body have been able to withstand such pressures and not break down? This will make replicating the results rather hard."

Carlisle thought to his Helljumper subject, far too old to undergo such strenuous augmentations at his age, even if late twenties to early thirties is rather young compared to the human lifespan, it is also too old for augmenting.

Beckman, anticipating Carlisle's thoughts jumped in, "However! The Spartan threes were not nearly as strong or durable as their counterparts, it is believed from what we were able to study from the less than adequate bodies you recovered, that they were older when undergoing the operations, which is why, while they were augmented, that it was not as much as the more 'expensive' Spartan Twos." He smiled, "It will be some time before we get you the perfect soldier, but perhaps we can supplement you a Three for the time being. Or perhaps a combination of the two."

OoOoOoOo

Jersey slowly came back to awareness to find himself in a small room. There was no color other than the blinking lights on various machines. The walls were bare, and casting his gaze down upon himself he found that he was wearing nothing more than a thin hospital gown that did not quite cover everything. Quickly he pulled the starched white sheets up to his waist before turning to other things.

His uniform was tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair on the other side of the room. It had been cleaned, that much was obvious, but it was hardly recognizable as a uniform anymore. It had been shredded and dark brown stains that had not come off in the wash dotted the cloth.

He tried to roll over to further take stock of his surroundings, but a great tearing pain in his side discouraged that idea. He ran a hand over his left side and felt a line of stitches, and then IV tubes. The same was discovered on the right, not nearly as many stitches, but another line of fluids was slowly dripping their way into his arm. A heart monitor was beeping insistently, and a blood pressure cuff was joining it in the little tune. The Helljumper was just beginning to consider breaking the delicate piece of equipment when the door silently opened to reveal a tall hard-looking woman and a doctor.

The woman stood out of the way, silently appraising as the doctor checked Jersey over. She was dressed all in black and standing far into the shadows. How the room even had shadows in itself was a mystery, perhaps they just followed wherever she went, or maybe she had some secret power to dim the lights where she walked. Her face was long and thin, her shoulders were rolled forward and her arms crossed. All together disapproving.

The doctor though, did not seem to notice. "The two weeks of rest, antibiotics, and heavy sedatives seem to have done their work. The stitches are nearly dissolved, and the bruising and broken bones have cleared up quite nicely. Yes I would say that in two or three more days he would be ready for conditionining to get some muscle back, and food to put on those pounds you've lost. Other than that I don't see anything wrong. One Hundred and ten percent better than when you were brought in here."

The doctor stepped back and smiled then. He had a nice smile, wide and white and it lit up his whole face. He seemed a nice enough fellow, but his presence was diminished by the cold and brooding figure in the background. It just made Jersey feel cold, because the doctor was such a bright figure, that it made the woman seem that much more terrifying.


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Here folks is an updated version of the chapter after it has been beta'd by the ever awesome ShadowWolf087.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own, please don't sue.

OoOoOo

It took another two weeks of steady diet and exercise, but Jersey was able to gain back the weight and muscle tone that he had lost in the aftermath of the failed Helljumper assault on the Insurrectionist base. Officially, he was kept there to be under the careful watch of the doctor-who Jersey had learned was named Kurt Russell-and a psychiatrist who insisted that the ODST was highly unstable after his ordeal.

"All one has to do is look at his eyes!" He would insist.

And he was right.

It did not take a doctorate to understand that the marine was suffering from survivor's guilt. Anybody who had just lost friends and men he considered to be brothers would be in mourning, but to be the last out of an entire group who had jumped into a combat zone? It was unimaginable. So he took to wandering, and drinking, and thinking. Jersey took to sitting for long hours staring up at a sky that seemed to be in a permanent state of overcast while fingering his dogtags.

His old set of tags had mysteriously disappeared soon after he arrived at the station; they were replaced with a new set that read mysteriously: JERSEY-001, and then another string of numbers and letters was below that. He wondered absently if it was like a hospital band, that he would get his old set back whenever they finally let him out.

But a voice in the back of his mind suspected that wasn't going to happen.

OoOoOoOo

Carlisle had kept a short leash on the two Pathologists who were in charge of the autopsy of the Spartan. They had to report everything directly to him, and nothing was overlooked by anyone else other than perhaps Shiloh. The spook loved to think that she was in charge of the project and everyone else was perfectly happy to allow her to believe so, but sometimes she became a little too…ferocious in her claims. But, the head of Intelligence seemed to favor her so nothing was disputed.

He paused at the door to the morgue to collect himself. He hated going in there, with a passion. With a shuddering breath Carlisle pushed the door open and stepped through it. He was hit immediately with a wave of cold air that carried that stench of chemicals and death. It was far from pleasant.

"Beckman, Reeve." He greeted the two scientists, frowning when he only saw one present. "Anything new for me today?"

Reeve looked up at the sound of his name, like a puppy who thinks he'll get a treat. He raised a pair of goggles to the top of his head and stepped around a body he was working on. From the massive size of the bone structure, Carlisle suspected it was a Spartan, but there wasn't enough left to be sure.

Reeve noticed the direction of his eyes. "Oh, say hello to Spartan-X, I say that because the dog tags were lost and the armor was so eroded we couldn't get the number. This is one the teams brought in a few years ago. As you can see by the state of degeneration, it was not one of the ones in space. This is actually a Three that was picked up on Reach after it was again safe for humans to be on it outside of EVA suits." He smiled. "I was running a comparison between tissues taken from the Threes and the Twos to find what exact augmentations are capable for the new subject. We got a lot of the science done, best as we can tell, the Threes were mostly given a cocktail of drugs." Reeves covered the body up and slid it back into a panel in the wall. "So what can I do for you today?"

Carlisle waved in the direction of the office, "I was hoping you could show me the charts Beckman was looking at so I can hand them over to the medical staff. I am sure they would love to double check and make sure we aren't going to simply be giving the boy a heart attack or two heads. The top brass would also probably like to keep tabs on what we're doing here."

They stopped at the door to Beckman's office where he was working on the very charts, adding notes here and there. He stood up and smiled broadly at the two men when they entered. "What can I do for you Carlisle?"

"I need copies of the Autopsy charts for the medical staff involved in the project."

"Sounds reasonable enough." Beckman handed them over Carlisle. "Just copy what you need and then send them back to me. As I am sure you've been informed, we're not finished yet."

"Yes well I've also been informed that the deadline has been moved up. Intel has come in that the Insurrectionists, emboldened by their repelling of the Helljumpers, have become more active. And then of course there have been the hit and runs of the Loyalists, they've slowly been moving inward in their attacks."

Reeves and Beckman hung on his every word, the latter jotting down some more quick notes before looking back up at the spook. "How far back did they push the deadline?"

Carlisle was about to answer when Shiloh strutted in unannounced, "They want the augmentations performed within the fortnight. They have already nearly completed repairing a few sets of armor."

Reeves exploded out of his chair, "A fortnight? We've only just started making breakthroughs with how the augmentation process even worked! And you want it completed within the fortnight? Are you crazy?"

His coworker gently laid a hand on his shoulder to guide him back to a chair.

"They have a point you know", cautioned Carlisle, "Odds are that if we tried anything then it would just kill the kid."

Shiloh gave an indignant toss of her head and lifted her chin to look down at Carlisle. "That is not my problem now is it?"

OoOoOo

"Let me get this straight, you want to inject me with experimental drugs, put a computer in my head, and then drop me off in the middle of nowhere to play One Man Army? Are you crazy?" Jersey was sitting in a straight-backed chair in the physiologist's office opposite of Shiloh. His eyes had grown to the size of saucers and his voice rose in several octaves at being told what ONI had planned for him. It was actually the most life he had shown since arriving.

The voice in his head had been right. He hated that.

Shiloh gave a mental sigh and did her best not to snap at him. "No, we plan on using you to resurrect the Spartan soldiers, your training and field operations will be overseen by an AI which will be added to your armor via an insert in the base of your skull. You will also be assisted by three marines, hardly a 'one man army' I think."

She looked into his eyes, searching for some spark or light there, but all she saw was someone who was drunk and depressed. So the spook played her ace. She reached into the breast pocked of her uniform and pulled out a set of dirty, grimy dog tags that still smelled of gunpowder and sulfur. She laid them on the table and left the room, closing the door as silently as she could.

After watching her leave, Jersey turned back around to see what it was she had put down in front of him.

Realization dawned at the sight of the dog tags.

Then he snatched them up, and rushed out the door after her.

OoOoOo

Jet and Roe stood on the deck of the Alliance, both of them resisting the urge to tug nervously at their uniforms. The Sergeant stood next to them, impassive as ever. They had been summoned to the Captain's office, but he was called away for a moment and they were left to wait.

Jet suspected that the Captain wasn't busy at all. That he just wanted to make them sweat to get a faster confession. He wasn't sure what the Sergeant had to do with it all, maybe just unbalance him and Roe, but the timing was just too convenient. It had only been two hours since he had snuck into the forensics lab to steal the chemicals to turn all the lunch food green.

Jet thought it was funny as all hell.

The rest of the ship, not so much.

So he figured they had been caught out and were in for a good talking to, maybe a few days in detention.

The prankster twin got no further in his musings before the Captain appeared on deck, and then just as quickly disappeared into his office. Less than a minute later Slip aparated onto a nearby pedestal, making a quick little noise to get their attention. "Captain's ready for you." He grinned impishly.

Jet groaned.

Roe hummed a funeral march as the Sergeant led the way into the office and stopped in front of the great desk as the door swooshed shut behind them. "You wanted to see us sir." Not a question.

The Captain stood up and walked around the side of the desk to be closer to them. "Yes I did actually. I would have seen you all sooner but I was called away for an issue in the kitchens."

Slip smothered a laugh.

The sergeant glanced back at her companions.

"As I was saying, I called you three here because you're up for reassignment."

"What?" The sergeant exploded. "Why would they do that? We're one of the best recovery teams! We-" She was violently cut off by the Captain's interruption.

"ENOUGH!" His voice echoed, heard even through the thick walls out into the deck. "You are all up for reassignment." He paused, daring the marine to interrupt him again. "The decision has come through the Office of Naval Intelligence.".

OoOoOoOo

The glowing green figure manifested above a holographic pedestal and stood calmly to watch the doctors and nurses running to and fro, it looked all too familiar. It crossed its arms and waited. The figure, an AI designated "Chief", formerly a soldier known as "Master Chief Petty Officer", crossed his arms to wait. It had taken a lot of headaches and discussions before Chief had calmed down enough to be any use to the UNSC, but, eventually he had decided that in life he was a soldier, how could he be anything less now?

After an hour of watching the comings and goings of the lab staff, exactly what the construct was waiting for appeared. A tired looking Helljumper wandered in, flanked on either side by two officers that the AI recognized as the spooks running the operation, Carlisle and Shiloh. They looked over in its' direction and nodded at the soldier they were with, clearly wanting the former Spartan's evaluation.

The AI obliged them, it looked the boy up and down before deciding that perhaps there was some merit in the project.


	9. Chapter 8

Yay updates! Thank you so much to my beta ShadowWolf087 for your suggestions.

**Disclaimer:** Noooo...not mine.

It had taken persuasion, bribing, heckling, and flat out threats – but Carlisle had succeeded. Jersey was perfectly sober. He nearly sighed with relief when they got him to the operation room without any incident. Just a few more hours and they would be able to move ahead with Operation Rebirth. And of course - if anything went wrong here, there was always Plan B.

OoOoOo

Jersey was _tired_. Tired and more than a little temperamental. Even with his decision to assist the UNSC in their little endeavor, there was still the small matter of his survivor's guilt. He had taken to drinking with enthusiasm and was sorely displeased to have been informed that there were to be no fluids of any type for 12 hours before surgery. The counselors called it 'alcoholism'. He called it 'trying to forget-and failing'.

He shuffled in to the operation room flanked on either side by Carlisle and Shiloh. He wondered briefly if they were having second thoughts about having chosen him. He knew he would if he were them. His face was flushed and his skin was covered in a sheen of sweat, but he didn't care. He was going through a bit of withdrawal.

Lifting his head a bit, the Helljumper looked around. With that small movement he seemed to come alive a little bit. For a brief second a spark showed in his eyes. He spotted a cluster of white robed individuals who didn't appear to be hospital staff hunched over what looked like a chemistry set. He broke away from the two spooks to check it out. "You two don't look like doctors."

One of the pair looked up and smiled at him. "Well, we are. Just not surgeons."

Jersey shrugged. "Well, what are you working on then if you're not part of all this." He gestured to himself and the spooks.

At that, the doctor laughed. "Well we are involved in 'all this'. What you see here, is plan B."

Now the Helljumper lifted his chin defiantly as if the very thought of such a thing were a personal insult. "You won't need a plan B."

OoOoOo

When Jersey broke away from his two self appointed guards (they were mainly there in case he had second thoughts) Shiloh sighed and made to chase after him. Carlisle simply allowed the woman to clothesline herself on his outstretched arm.

"There are marines posted outside the door, the AI can lock everything down. Of course, the biggest thing you said yourself when you mentioned him for the project. A soldier who wants revenge. I don't think he's going to run."

Shiloh fixed the short man with her deadliest glare. "That was before he turned out to be an alcoholic with more than a touch of depression." She had to work to keep her voice from rising in her anger. "I'm beginning to think we just remove him completely and move on to Plan B."

She crossed her arms and huffed. This was supposed to be her shining moment! If she succeeded with Project Rebirth there was nothing keeping her from moving to the top and running the whole damned place! Which, she had to admit, probably wouldn't be too different than the present, as everybody pretty much did what she wanted anyway.

Carlisle shook his head. "Sorry. That won't be ready soon enough. He's just got cold feet. Besides, the AI seems to be satisfied with him." He gestured to the twelve inch high green Spartan hologram that was standing at parade rest on a pedestal next to the monitors. The construct was watching everyone in the room intently- at least that was the impression the staff got, as the hologram had appeared with a helmet on.

The AI, aware of their intentions, gave a small nod. Even though the two spooks were unable to hear the conversation Jersey had with the chemists, it did. It was also aware of the hitch in his breathing and the flush of his face when a Plan B was mentioned. It noticed the spark in his eye and the defiance.

The construct didn't remember much. Some of that was due to being alone and offline for so long. Some of the gaps came from memories being too painful, or irrelevant to its current assignment. But it knew what a soldier was. Jersey may have been a bit of a train wreck at the moment, but Chief was certain that somewhere in there was a soldier.


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: **I am so very sorry that it took so long to get this all to you. My family and I have been very sick these past several years, unfortunatly that means that I have been very drained and unable to write here for a while. But when the new season for Sherlock aired and then Avengers came out I was struck with some inspiration. And then the wonderful Shadow has been a wonderful beta and for bouncing ideas off of. Thank you!

**Disclaimer:** Orignal characters are mine, everyone else and the sandbox I play in belongs to Bungie and 343 and all those guys over there. I also stole an idea from Star Trek.

OoOoOoOo

Every cell was on fire. Moving hurt (all he could do was turn his head side to side but still!), blinking hurt (not that there was anything besides a white ceiling to stare at), and breathing _hurt_. The helljumper decided that the sensation was akin to being ripped limb and then thrown into a pit of lava while still alive. He gritted his teeth against the pain, only to find that that escalated it. Jersey stifled a yawn and a wince. Whatever drugs they had him on must have worn off completely. Maybe it was too small a dose, or maybe whatever they had done just made things go through his system faster.

No sooner had those thoughts entered his mind then a heard footsteps enter the room. Something was adjusted and he quickly slipped back into a painless oblivion.

The next time the former Helljumper drifted to wakefulness, he found that the pain was considerably lessened. Instead, Jersey found that he was both hungry and thirsty. He turned his head to the side and saw that there was a bedside table with folders, bottles of medications, needles, and most importantly-a UNSC standard issue purified water bottle. The only problem with getting to it was that he was tied down the same as before.

Jersey was considering shouting to get someone's attention when again footsteps entered the room. Before the tired Helljumper could form words to ask what was going on and could they please hand him the water, more drugs were pumped into his system and he lost consciousness.

OoOoOo

Carlisle and Shiloh stood at the entrance to a vast room. The lights were dimmed making it seem even larger because the ceiling and the far walls were out of sight. What they could see was lined with evenly spaced grids and small shiny points of light that appeared to be projectors. Spaces in the walls gave away where areas could be sectioned off allowing for more than one training session at a time to speed things along.

The female spook shifted placing her hands on her hips and giving a sharp nod of her head. "Perfect really." She turned to look at her companion. "So when do we get to see it in action?"

Carlisle laughed, "The squad hasn't arrived yet and your guinea pig is still hibernating! No, I don't think we'll get to see a demonstration for some time."

He turned to leave and nearly bumped into a startled Davijan who was entering the room, data pad held up to his nose for easier reading and obstructing his view of the path ahead.

"Oh, sorry." He gasped out. "I was just coming in to upload the new training files you had me put together with Chief, I really think it's coming along." He paused for a moment to think. "Well, coming along in terms of solid coding, as for combat scenarios I'm just a desk jockey." He shrugged.

Carlisle turned back to look at Shiloh.

"As soon as they get here." She stated and walked out.

OoOoOo

Jet huffed as he ducked under a fallen log and hugged his shotgun to his chest. This was becoming ridiculous! The task was supposed to be to locate a separatist hideout, cover it while the Sergeant snuck in and stole some weird macguffin that brass had decided that they needed, and then blow the place to hell while they booked it back to whatever base it was that they'd been dropped at. And that in itself was beyond weird in his mind. What kind of asshole drags someone who was on cleanup duty for the past three years off a ship and dumps them in a combat zone without even a by-your-leave!"

He flattened himself under the log and peered out the way he had come, a rustling of brush alerted him to his pursuer. A tall human stalked along the trail. He wore a terribly outdated UNSC uniform and carried a weapon of obvious covenant design. Slowly, Jet laid down his shotgun and instead began twisting a silencer on to the end of his pistol. Perhaps, if he took this one out he would have enough of a head start to make his way back to his brother and the Sergeant before anyone else got on his trail. He was just lining up his sights for the shot when there was another rustling of the underbrush before something else tottered into the area on short stubby legs. At first the young soldier thought it was a child before it came into his line of sight and was revealed to be a tiny alien that his mind told him was a grunt.

The alien chattered something to the human and Jet was wondering if he was good enough to hit both of them before he was discovered when suddenly his world went white with a terrible ringing that overrode every other sense he had. He cried out in pain for his eyes and ears, dropping his weapon, curling into a little ball and clutching at his head trying in vain to block out the noise and the light.

It seemed like forever before the overwhelming sensations retreated enough for him to make sense of his world again. He remained under the log, far too aware of his own vulnerability at the moment until he could see, and then slowly crawled out. The Insurrectionist and the Grunt were both dead. A clean shot to the back of the head where the skull met the spine for the human, and the Grunt had fallen victim to an exploding methane pack.

Jet sank to his knees. Thank God for brothers.

OoOoOo

Roe slung his rifle over his shoulder, climbed out of his tree and made his way to his twin. "Are you gonna live?"

Jet looked up at him and gave a brief nod.

"Good, because otherwise would be a big inconvenience.

Jet muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "I love you too" as Roe reached down and hauled him up to his feet. "Come on, we gotta find Sarge and then get to the evac." Still holding to his brother's shirt sleeve, Roe made his way back down the trail the two enemies had come from.

"When everything went to heck in a hand basket, the Sergeant started running along a northern trail and I headed east for a while before doubling back to find you. It's only been an half an hour so I'm sure it won't be too hard to find her.

Twenty minutes of hiking brought them to the ruined cabin that while perfectly innocent looking was actually an entrance of a much more elaborate base of operations. They had done the job of wrecking the place correctly, sealing the Insurrectionists and their Covenant allies inside where death awaited them by either fire or gas, whichever overcame them first. Unfortunately not everyone had been inside. A small group of human and grunt scouts had been outside and had given chase to the trio of soldiers.

Jet and Roe cast around the cabin searching for their NCO's trail. They slowly enlarged their circle until they found a set of boot prints of someone of considerable height moving in a northern direction at a fast pace. With a quick glance at each other the brothers headed off along behind and to either side of the prints. No need to trample such a nice trail.

OoOoOo

The sergeant paused a moment to lean against a tree and take the weight off her feet and take a sip of water from her camel pack. A glance at her watch revealed that she'd been running for nearly an hour and a half straight, the rational part of her mind insisted that she had killed her pursuers and that no one else was coming after her. The paranoid part that had made itself known when she was little and in a similar position, persisted otherwise. It almost won out.

She pushed off the tree and was bending down to check the straps on her boots when the sharp report of a firearm rang out just as a slug threw her off her feet and embedded itself in her calf with a spray of blood and muscle. She was thrown back into the tree that she had previously been leaning against. Reflexsively she drew her leg to her chest and held her hands over the wound. Then with a curse she fumbled for a moment, holding the bleeding leg with one hand and holding her pistol with the other. The grip was slippery from her blood; she rubbed her palm on her pants and picked it up again. She swept her gaze along the branches of the surrounding trees, nothing. She looked at the underbrush, nothing. The sergeant stumbled to her feet, one hand on the tree trunk for support.

Another rifle burst.

A jackal and a UNSNC sniper rifle fell out of a tree to her right.

Jet and Roe appeared seconds later, Jet smiling until he saw the crimson stain spreading along the Sergeant's pant leg and seeping out between her fingers. "You should get that looked at."

The other two sent him scathing looks.

Jet moved to her side and held her steady while Roe, who had steadier hands, swiftly tied a bandana around the wound. "That'll hold until we get to the evac point, come on." Each of the brothers took an arm and helped her start limping in the direction of the clearing where they were told a drop-ship would be there to take them back to the base they were to now call home.

They had only gone three steps-or hops in the sergeant's case-when it was as if the sun had been instantly eclipsed. The entire forest and everything ceased to exist, if she hadn't felt the ground beneath her boots the sergeant would have sworn they were floating in a void. There was no light, no anything.

The sensation only lasted a second before the three found themselves in a huge metal room with grids and lights of some sort lining the walls. The twins settled their NCO on the ground and primed their rifles on the only door they could see.

The door slid open to reveal the silhouetted form of someone obviously human. The silhouette walked into the room, "Put your weapons up soldiers."

They didn't.

"Lights!" snapped the shadowy form.

The lights came on.

Now they put their weapons up and saluted.

"Carlisle, Sir." Said the Sergeant with a nod.

The spook smiled. "Thank you for testing out our new training facility Sergeant. I said we would need you."


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: **_Whoohoo! Another chapter! Sorry it took so long, injury, work, hurricane, you know: life. Anyway things are moving ahead with our little crew. Thanks a million to the most awesome Beta on the webs_ ShadowWolf087 _for being there to help and correct all my silly mistakes and offer advise. You rock._

**Disclaimer:** Any character that is not immediatly recognizable belongs to me, everyone else belongs to Bungie/343 all all those guys.

OoOoOo

Once Carlisle had coaxed a brief summary of events from the three marines he had then attempted to summon a medical team to the training room to tend to the sergeant. She shrugged them off rather rudely with a stream of curses, most of which were not English - and bodily threats when the youngest EMT had attempted to ask her to at least sign the refusal form. Once escaping them she limped down the hallways with as much dignity as she could muster with a bullet having torn itself through her right calf. The UNSC green bandana tied around her leg was now mostly deep red and streams of blood had wound their way down into her boot. She heard the liquid squishing in the sole with each step.

As soon as she deemed that she was far enough away from the others, she stopped for a breather. The strain on her left leg was more than usual now that she was limping heavily, and wore her out quickly. She leaned against the corridor wall to take as much of the weight off her right leg as possible, and cradled the leg with her hand.

Someone was shouting. Several some ones actually. The sergeant pushed off the wall and looked back the way she came. No, it wasn't Jet and Roe, there were three voices and two of them were female. Curious now, the sergeant followed the sounds of the voices, surprised when a fourth, this one male, joined in. It was distinctly calmer than the other three and for a moment the argument stalled before picking up again.

After turning down one hallway that branched off from the main corridor, she found herself in a near deserted section of the medical wing. She stopped at an open door where it sounded like all the ruckus was coming from and flattened herself against the wall, carefully peering inside, the fire in her leg now all but forgotten.

What she saw was a young man, younger than herself she guessed, but it was hard to tell with his back turned towards her. He had backed himself against one wall of the examining room with the table he was meant to be sitting on positioned between himself and two female nurses. One held an empty syringe and a few small bottles for collecting blood samples. The other stood with hands raised, palms outward, clearly trying to calm the soldier enough for them to get closer.

On the table between the two parties a small AI had manifested. Small compared to the three adults, it was rather large as far as AI avatars went. It stood about 18 inches from table to the top of its head. The avatar was green and dressed in what appeared to be naval fatigues. With its booted feet shoulder width apart and miniature hands curled into fists resting on its hips, it easily conveyed its impatience. While the sergeant watched, the AI turned from staring everyone down to focusing on the young man. "I am supposed to be your partner-"

"Then why aren't you on my side?!" The other demanded before the AI could finish.

Now the miniature soldier bristled, the avatar flickering a darker shade of green as it sighed. Clearly the arguing was routine.

"No military personnel," it stated, "no matter the branch or rank, ever won a fight with medical." It flickered once before fading out just as the sergeant became aware of the tramping of feet and a fully armed cell extraction team shoved her aside and swept into the room. Normally a cell extraction was used in prisons or psych wards, not medical. The teams consisted of five soldiers or guards who formed a pyramid: the man in front had a riot shield, the two behind him brandished handcuffs, and the two at the back of the pyramid were armed with what looked like miniature lassos that were used to restrain the feet.

They rammed into the young man, sending him flying back into the wall and then knocking him to the floor. The soldier with the shield pinned him to the floor, one jumped on each of his limbs. The prisoner, as he now appeared to be, bucked and rolled away from the team, a single handcuff dangling from his right wrist as he stood up. Now the sergeant got a good look at him.

He appeared to be in his early twenties. He wore a white shirt that proudly proclaimed "ODST" across his broad chest. His hair was light brown, nearly but not quite blond and neatly buzzed. He had khaki BDU pants - belted of course, and tucked into the top of his Magnum boots that went halfway up his calves. The most prominent thing the sergeant noticed though was how thoroughly muscled he was. She hadn't always been on the recovery teams, she had met ODSTs and other active duty marines and none of them were anywhere near the size of the young man. He wasn't much taller than the soldiers scrambling to detain him as the nurses ducked out the door, but it was enough to be a noticeable difference. Coupled with his muscle mass it was enough to make her narrow her eyes with suspicion. And of course there was the green AI who had itself stated it was his partner.

She huffed in annoyance and turned away from the scene, only to bump into and bounce off of another observer. This one was a woman in a uniform with no identifying features and a chiseled face with a frown that seemed to be permanently etched on. "Do you like what you see?" she questioned with no preamble.

The sergeant's eyes flickered to the now prone, cuffed and hogtied soldier. "Perhaps." she paused, "One of yours?"

The woman who was obviously a spook's lips stretched into a thin line. "Spartan J-001 belongs to the UNSC, specifically ONI. You all belong to me, my dear sergeant." With that she turned and strode down the corridor; the light seemed to brighten now that she was gone.

The extraction team drug the soldier out of the room. Two of them had black eyes and one sported a broken nose that steadily dripped blood onto his uniform front. They quickly disappeared the way the spook had gone.

The sergeant made her way back to the normal part of the medical wing. Now that the excitement was over, the throbbing in her leg picked up again. Her boot sloshed with every step.

OoOoOo

The moment Jersey regained awareness a stream of curses began spouting from his mouth. He was sitting on the ground leaning up against what felt like a concrete wall, his hands cuffed firmly behind his back. There were no chairs or any other form of furniture. The only window was high up on the door and it was currently shuttered.

He growled and let his head flop bonelessly back against the wall with a soft thump.

No sooner had he resigned himself to waiting in silence for whatever Carlisle and Shiloh had in store for him than a familiar green shape flickered into view from an unseen projector somewhere in the room. Before the miniature soldier could speak, Jersey shut his eyes and turned his face away.

The 18 inch tall figure in Navy fatigues was not to be deterred. It stood the same way it had when its charge had thrown the temper tantrum before, feet apart and hands clasped behind its back and with chin lifted up. It almost gave the impression of looking down on the sulking soldier. "Well?" it prompted.

Jersey continued pretending it wasn't there.

Juvenile.

"You realize that to kill the bastards who murdered your unit you do have to play by their rules. Right?" When no answer or response of any kind was forthcoming it continued. "You also realize that I can't train you to do that until you're cleared. They won't clear you without those blood samples."

When the AI stopped speaking the door creaked open to reveal the cell extraction team accompanied by two nurses, these ones men, and the always lurking Carlisle and Shiloh.

Jersey allowed his eyes to flick over to the group for a brief second before sliding away to stare impassively at the wall.

The nurses passed around the extraction team to enter. They cautiously approached the soldier, tied a tourniquet around his upper arm, acquired the several vials of blood needed for testing and beat a hasty retreat without any reaction from their subject. The door then creaked shut, leaving the soldier and his companion once again in silence.


End file.
